Back to the Moulin Rouge
by DamnTheMan
Summary: Christian meets a young dancer by the name of Vixen and he tells her about the glorious Moulin Rouge. Together, they deicide to become owners of it and the Moulin Rouge is back in business.


Christian swiftly put on his hat and took a look around the room he called home for the past two years. He looked out the window at the broken down closed Moulin Rouge. With a deep sigh and turned and closed the door, picking up his suitcase and typewriter. The Bohemians left months ago and all the old Moulin Rouge dancers had left Montmarte for a better place, just as he was about to. Before leaving he returned the key to his room at the desk where he first came, asking for a room to rent. The streets were dark and cold, much like his heart. Suitcase and typewriter in hand, Christian made his way to the train station. He was ready to start his life over, he spent too many hours wasting away, knowing he could not go back in time and change. It was time to return home.  
  
The train station was empty and damp. A young girl sat at a bench, eyeing everyone who passed her nervously. She was pale and had hair red as an apple. For a moment, Christian started towards her. He stopped himself in his tracks.  
  
"She cant be Satine . . .Satine is dead you fool," he said to himself. Now he knew it was time to return home. The train pulled up and Christian walked in a fast pace towards it. He had to get out of there, and away from the pale redhead. In his mind, he crossed his fingers hoping she wouldn't be heading towards Britain. Unfortunately for him, the girl boarded and sat in perfect eye vision of him. With a single glance at her hair, memories of Satine came rushing back. Memories of their first encounter, all the way to her dying in his arms. He looked out the window and traced an S on the glass. Gently, he hummed. Then with one last breath he whispered out, "I will love you, until my dying day."  
  
"That was beautiful," a voice beside him said. Christian jumped and hit his head on the window. He dumbly rubbed it and waited for his vision to come back.  
  
"Satine?" he asked, looking at a blurred redhead with pale skin. After a moment, he realized it was the same girl as before and in fact, NOT Satine. The girl smiled and shook her head. Christian blinked a few more times and got a better look at the girl. Up closer, then girl didn't look like Satine at all.  
  
"No, Felicia. Wasn't Satine a dancer at the Moulin Rouge?" Felicia asked. Christian nodded and then looked at her confused.  
  
"What was beautiful?" he asked, now beginning to feel angry that she wasn't Satine and for a mere moment he got his hopes up.  
  
"The song you were humming. I could hear you from my seat," she said. Christian sneered at her.  
  
"Learn to mind your business. Now leave me alone," he said, hugging his typewriter up to his chest. The girl rolled her eyes and returned to her seat. Christian knew that was no way to treat a lady, no way to treat anyone, but he couldn't help but feel this way. His heart with still tender and in pain from the passion and love he and Satine shared so many months ago. Deep down he knew he would never be able to love anyone the same way again. His head hurt, and his heart hurt. He was tired, and his heart was tired. Many nights he would wander around the empty grounds of the Moulin Rouge. Satine's body was gone, but Christian knew she was with him, in spirit form. Christian wondered how life would have been if Satine never died. Would they have truly stayed together? Would the Duke kill him and make Satine his bride? Or even, would Satine bear children and they move away to a luxurious home in London. But there was no way to turn back time and change these things. No way to be certain where the future would have gone.  
  
It had taken many hours of deep thought to decide to move back home. He wasn't quite sure if it was the right move. His father had told him, 'you'll come crawling back, in three years you'll be fed up and come crawling back.' But that wasn't entirely true. The past year he locked himself away in his little room and wrote the greatest love story ever. The story of him and Satine. Toulouse had read every word up to the point he and the Bohemians moved out. Christian felt it could be made into a book. A book that everyone would read across the land. Those who believed in love, those who didn't. Lovers would read pages to lovers and those who lost a loved one would feel the same emotions on every page.  
  
Christian also hoped in his return home with a new book, it would give him a new attitude towards life. The day Satine died was the day he died. He no longer looked at woman and yearned to get to know them. No longer he looked at woman and wanted to be with them. The young redhead on the train was a prime example. Christian saw her as an attractive girl who was nothing good for him. Nothing was good for him anymore. The only thing good for him was Satine, the one thing he lost.  
  
Rain began to fall. The perfect weather to describe his mood. As though they were working together, the harder the rain got, the heavier his eyelids got until they were closed and he was drifting into a sleep filled with Satine, Harold Zidler, and the beautiful creatures of the underworld. Back to the days of the Moulin Rouge. Days that would no longer exist when the train stopped at its destination in Britain. 


End file.
